Blot Out The Moon, Pull Down The

I Must Write. If I Stop Writing My Life Will Have Been An Abject Failure. It Is That Already To Other People. But It Could Be An Abject Failure To Myself. I Will Not Have Earned Death.

It's So Easy To Make A Person Who Hasn't Got Anything Seem Wrong.

There Are Always Two Deaths, The Real One And The One People Know About.

It Was The Darkness That Got You. It Was Heavy Darkness, Greasy And Compelling. It Made Walls Round You, And Shut You In So That You Felt Like You Could Not Breathe.

The Rumble Of The Life Outside Was Like The Sound Of The Sea Which Was Rising Gradually Around Her.